Finding Purpose Redux
by MarcusTheBloody
Summary: This story follows the events immediately after NFA. Spike is hurt, Angel is more hurt, Gunn is dead and alive while Illyria is still seeking to do more violence. There are some guest appearances with more to come.
1. Chapter 1

OOC:This is a reprint of the story that I wrote after the trauma of "Not Fade Away". I wanted to fire this one back up again, so I thought I would get it all together instead of bumping it back up.

Stumbling into an abandoned warehouse, Spike collapsed against the nearest wall. He was nearly covered from head to toe in blood, most of which wasn't his own, which left a crimson print where he was leaning against the side of the steel building.

_Bloody hell, this burns_, he thought, reaching down to grasp a two foot long section of wood and iron that jutted out of his abdomen. He had taken the spear while fighting a group of those pig-faced warriors that the Senior Partners had sicced on them after they had brought Wolfram & Hart and the Black Thorn tumbling down.

At first the fighting had been unreal, as hordes and hordes of, well...things, descended upon them. Angel had taken to the rooftops almost immediately after saying something about going for a ride, while he, Gunn, and Illyria played with the mass of nasties that were flooding the streets and alleys around them.

He lost track of the other almost immediately as they were quickly overwhelmed by a sea of foes. About ten minutes into it, he saw Illyria down an alleyway holding an axe in one hand and a severed head in another. That had been over thirty minutes ago and he hadn't seen any of his comrades since. More than likely, they were all dead...or wishing they were. If Spike knew anything about the Senior Partners it was that it was better to be dead than kept alive if they wanted to get a hold you.

Spike didn't plan on dying anytime soon though. He had tried that once and had found it rather...unfulfilling. He planned on going out the way he wanted, not on the end of a pig sticker.

Reaching down and grabbing the broken spear butt, Spike pulled as hard as he could. Instead of sliding out, it felt as if his insides were being ripped out.

_It's barbed_, he thought, as he looked over his shoulder at the foot long metal tip that jutted out of his back. It was needle sharp at the tip with jagged edges facing downward about a foot down. He knew he had about another foot in him, which meant it was probably barbed all the way through.

Taking a deep breath, Spike set himself, and the broke end of the spear, against the steel support beam that was in front of him.

_Nothing to do but push it through_, he said to himself matter of factly, though he wasn't totally convinced that was what he wanted to do.

Leaning forward, Spike pushed slowly, _This is going to hurt like..._

All Spike remembered when he finally come to on the floor was a blinding flash of pain and some distant roar. He had fell face first, onto his belly, which probably meant the spear was out, or at least almost. Forcing himself onto his side, he reached back and pulled it out the rest of the way.

Spike had been hurt bad before, much worse than this. Glory had put it too him harder than any of these bloody piggies had and then there had been that time in Croatia... It wasn't the pain or even the gaping hole in him that bothered him; it was the fact that it would slow him down.

If he was going to take these bloody blokes down or even fight his way out of here and try to regroup with the other, if there were any others, he would have to heal quickly. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter, yet if a little puppy had walked into that warehouse, Spike was positive there was not much he could have done to stop it from licking him to death.

Pulling himself up against the wall, Spike listened to what was going on outside. He had killed all of his pursuers before he had stumbled in here, however, he could hear the sound of armor and the howls of the demon hordes getting closer again. He wouldn't have long before they would find him.

A sudden noise at the back of the warehouse forced Spike's attention back inside. He could hear someone, or something, poking around. It had to be to be the bad guys; no one in their right mind would be out here with what was going on in the streets.

If he was going to die, he was going to do so on his feet. With a stifled grunt, Spike pushed himself up, using the wall for support more than the feet, pulling the broken spear, the only weapon he had on hand, up with him.

The sounds at the back of the warehouse continued and they were getting closer. They must have been tearing the place apart look for him because they, he assumed more of those pig faced demons, were grunting and squealing and throwing things all over. This went on for about a minute before it stopped as abruptly as it had started.

Spike strained to listen, however, he heard nothing unto a voice spoke out in front of him.

"Hello William." Came the gentle voice of a woman, "I've been looking for you."

Spike had been right, no one in their right mind would be out and about with what was going on in the streets, unfortunately, that was no problem for the woman who stood before him.

"Come to finish what you started luv?" Spike asked, as he fought to keep his feet. "Or did you come to lend me a hand?"

The woman didn't respond.

"Because the way I see it, you owe me." He continued, holding his hands out in front of him. "Oh yeah, got my old one's back. Thanks for asking."

Dana still didn't move. The Slayer, who Spike had the displeasure of meeting a few months back when Lindsey had still been playing around him, had put a whooping on Spike and then played crazy doctor on him. The Shamans back at Wolfram & Hart had surgically and mystically reattached them and Spike was dying to wrap them around the psycho Slayer's throat.

"Did those ponsy Watchers cut you loose?" Spike asked, trying to gauge Dana a bit by trying to make her react. "Or did you chew yourself off your leash?"

The truth was, Spike would carry on a conversation with her as long as the little hussy would listen. As much as he wanted to return the ass kicking, Spike wasn't in any shape to be fighting. He could barely stand, so kicking was pretty much out of the question.

"Easy Daniel Boone." A male voice came from behind Dana. "Quite an Alamo you guys have here, but don't worry, the cavalry has arrived."

Spike recognized the voice almost immediately, yet the person it belonged to had changed even greater since he had last seen him.

"Andrew?"

"Corrected, oh Souled one of the Dark."

The Watcher-in-training had always wore his hair a little longer, however, it was now nothing but stubble.

As if reading Spike's mind, Andrew reached up and ran his fingers over his scalp.

"You like?" Andrew asked, "I figured it was time to quit acting like Bruce Wayne and more like the Bat."

Opening up the same type of long leather coat that he had on the night they had tracked Dana, Andrew revealed a small arsenal that was strapped to the inside of the coat and...a what actually looked to be a utility beat strapped around his waist. He then struck a dramatic pose, which was immediately ruined when two small hand arms feel out of the coat, followed by a dagger and a radio of some sort.

Hastily collecting them, Andrew went over to Spike.

"We're here to help," Andrew said, giving Dana a quick glance before turning back to Spike.

Leaning over to Spike, Andrew began to whisper, "Not that you need it right? But us Champion types need to stick together."

"Speaking of Champions," Andrew continued, "Where is the of the rest of your DemonBusters." Without missing a beat, Andrew hummed a few bars of something before adding a "Who ya gonna call...?"

"Don't right know mate," Spike said, "Haven't seen em in some time. Angel, Illyria, Gunn, and I started this throw down a few block over from here and..."

"Whoa," Andrew stopped Spike by making a sound close to what a car with it brakes locked up would sound like, "Did you say Illyria?"

"Yeah," Spike replied, "Why do you care?"

"That Spike, is why we are here." Another familiar voice said as someone entered the room.

"Well, hello Rupert."

Pulling a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket, Giles began to clean his glasses. They weren't dirty or anything, it was more of a habit. A habit that he had formed long ago while training to be a Watcher, but honed when he became Buffy's Watcher. Buffy claimed that he did it when he didn't want to see what they were doing and Willow had said she though he did it when he thought that they weren't seeing a situation clearly. When it came right down to it, he didn't think either was the truth. It was just a habit.

Yet, as he stood there, looking at Spike, he realized that maybe that was an element of truth to both their statements. Here he was looking for a vampire, actually two vampires, that by all accounts he should be trying to kill. It hadn't been that long ago that he and Robin had tried just that. Well, Robin had, but by knowing what he was doing and condoning it, he had become a part of the plot against Spike. At the time he thought he was doing the right thing.

Was he doing the right thing now?

"Where is Angel, Spike?" Giles asked as he finished cleaning his lenses and slipped his glasses back on.

"Where is Angel?" Spike asked incredulously, "What, no how have you been Spike? Glad to see you're not buried in the Hellmouth Spike? Thanks for saving the bloody world, Spike?"

Giles waited for Spike to finish his tirade before continuing.

"Hello Spike. Now where is Angel?"

"I don't know Rupert," Spike said spitefully. "Probably still off playing George and his dragon. I don't bloody know! All I know is one minute all hell was breaking loose and now I'm in here with you."

Spike suddenly became very quiet.

"I don't know...where any of them are. Probably all dead. Like I should be."

Spike stopped speaking for a second then continued. "I'm not bloody human though, so Angel must still be alive."

"Human?" Giles asked.

"Ah...nothing." Spike said, making a dismissive gesture towards Giles, "Just some mystic fairy tale."

Throwing the broken spear that he still held, Spike straightened up and put his air of cockiness back on.

"So where do we stand then? Are we going to have to fight our way out of here to find them or what?

"No," Giles responded, "I don't believe there is any fighting to be done. Any of the creatures that you were fighting are either dead or gone."

"What?" Spike said, "I figured they would be on us until out bones were ground into dust or at least just dust in my case."

"Maybe you're the only one left William?" said Dana.

If there had been fire in Spike's eyes when he had first saw Dana in the warehouse, there was an inferno now.

Giles knew things could get out of hand. Dana was just as unpredictable as Spike was, so he knew he needed to rein things in.

Throwing a glance at Andrew, Giles then looked at Dana. The boy needed to get her out of there. He had volunteered to be her future Watcher after she had returned from her time with the Coven and he need to learn to keep her under him eye at all times. And now of all times. If Spike decided not to help them... They could probably find Angel without him, but...

As Andrew hurried over to Dana to take her outside, Giles turned his attention back to Spike.

"Spike, I'm sorry about your friends, but we don't have much time. You mentioned Illyria. Do you know anything about her? How she came here? Where she came from? That is why we are here. I need to talk to Angel about Illyria and if he is gone, then you are our best bet to find out what we need."

"Just ask her yourself. Though she's not really the chatty type, unless you like hearing about her being worshipped and all that former god rubbish."

"Illyria is here? Fighting with you? Not against you?" Giles asked.

"Yeah. Or at least she was."

"Spike, do you know anything about Illyria? What it is?"

"Actually it's a she and yes, I do know what she is and where she's from."

"So you know about the Deeper Well?"

"Yeah, back in the motherland...big hole in the ground...under a tree...goes all the way through the earth. Been there. Didn't much care for it, though it wasn't really a sight seeing trip."

Giles was overwhelmed by the fact that Spike had actually stood in the Deeper Well.

"Why were you there?" Giles asked.

"It's a long story." Spike responded. By the look an his face, it was obvious to Giles that whatever had happened there bothered Spike.

"I'm sorry Spike, but I need know. Buffy needs to know?"

"Buffy? Is she in trouble?" Spike said, suddenly paying closely attention.

"Not yet, but I need to get any information on Illyria or the Deeper Well to her as soon as possible."

Spike stood there in silence for a moment before walking over to a pile of wooden crates and sitting down.

"Right then." Spike said and then started into his story.

Illyria wandered the wet and dark streets of Los Angeles, not sure of where she was headed until she got there. The battle lay behind. Illyria had crushed all who had dared stand against her. It was now as it always had been. She was Illyria.

That thought struck her harder than any blow she had ever received in battle. Illyria had just thought of her person as a...she. In eons past, Illyria had always been...Illyria. Crusher of Hope. Destroyer of Life. Terror. Illyria had been all those things. Illyria had never been a she.

Angel and the others had hated her because of her rebirth into the vessel named Wynafred Burkle. They said she had infected her. Yet, it was she... No, Illyria that had been infected by the insignificant creature they called "Fred".

What power she must have had to instill such loyalty in them. Yet, when Illyria drew upon the template of Wynafred Burke, she found no overwhelming power coming from her, no memories of subjugating those around her; Illyria simply found emotions. Simple, needless emotions.

Yet, it was those emotions that drew her back to this place. Back to him.

Why was she here? Back in Vail's mansion. Back where she had slain Vail. Where Vail had slain Wesley. Something Illyria didn't understand drove her against her will to the place. The mere thought caused Illyria to snarl in rage. Had this...feeling...been a foe, she would had ripped it limb from limb, destroying it like she had those who had threatened her back in the streets surrounding the building of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. Yet, inside her was the foe. Fred and her emotions. For him.

Upon her first visit to the mansion, Illyria had found the front doors mystically sealed. That had not proved a problem, just an inconvenience. Like any other inconvenience, Illyria deal with it. The wall next to the door was not shielded.

Stepping through the gaping hole in the wall, Illyria suddenly felt something...different. Illyria feared nothing that lived, walked, or breathed; yet it wasn't any of those things that gave her pause. Illyria realized that it was fear of the dead that gave her pause. Fear of seeing him there.

_Curse you and your weakness insect. Illyria fears nothing. Living or dead._

As if Wynafred Burke had heard her and decided to answer, a voice from somewhere in the back of Illyria's mind answered. _Then why are you still standing here? Go to him._

Illyria cocked her head to the side, as if trying to listen to see if the voice would continue, yet nothing more was said. With the determination on her face that usually meant death, Illyria continued down the hallway, through the antechamber, and into the Hall. Illyria passed by Vail; in truth, just his body. His head lay several yards back down the hallway where she had separated it earlier.

Just before crossing the threshold of the Hall, Illyria stopped and peered into the room. That something in the back of her mind began to laugh. She stood there overwhelmed by the flood of emotions that come over her. The way the room smelled, the sound of a single clock ticking in the background, and how Wesley's limp body had felt in her arms.

_No,_ Illyria roared at the voice laughing in her mind.

Entering the Hall, Illyria noticed that everything remained the same as it had when she had left. Everything, except one thing. Wesley's body was gone.

**_16 hours earlier_**...

Wesley, sitting at the desk in his office, stared at five golden boxes that were lined up on his desk. All of them were identical; perfect squares that glowed dully in the faint light of the room.

Next to the boxes stood a picture of Wes, Fred, and Lorne hamming it up for the camera at the Wolfram & Hart Christmas party. Both of them, Fred and Wes, had been mystically drunk at the time, thanks to Lorne's projective empathy. They were all smiles as Lorne stood behind them giving his "showtime" grin.

It all seemed a lifetime ago. The happiness that Wesley finally felt in his life with Fred sometime after that had not been a result of Lorne's suggestions, yet it had a magical quality of it's own. Now that was gone...

The prospects of what he now faced paled in comparison to the loss he had sustained when Fred had been taken away from him by Illyria. What he was about to do with his companions was inconsequential. He had told Angel that Illyria was hollowing out Fred, using her body as a shell, during her horrific transformation, yet it was him now that was a shell. He was empty without her. In truth, he had died when Fred did.

All that remained was sitting on his desk. Five golden boxes and duty.

Wesley had always tried to do what was right. Tonight would be no different. Although he care little anymore for himself, he wanted to see Angel and the others through this ordeal if he could.

His mind suddenly shifted to Angel and Connor and his action that led up to where they were now. The prophesies said that the father would kill the son, so Wes assumed he was doing the right thing in taking Angel's baby boy and giving him to Holts. Holts then went into the portal, Connor returned later as an adult, eventually fell under Jasmine's control, which led Angel to make a deal with Wolfram & Hart, which in turn brought Illyria and what they were about to do.

One action. His choice, whether right or wrong, had brought them to their present dilemma. Fred was gone and he had killed her.

Wes hoped that this time would be different. Would his decision now effect their lives, if they made it out of this with them, down the road for ruin? Wesley hoped not. His father, on one of the rare occasion that he had spoke to him as an equal, had said, "Wesley, one has to life for the immediate. Be where they are at, not where they wish to be. Do what is right in the moment because that is what you can control. The outcome is up to fate."

Live for the moment.

It was sound advice. Yet what his father had failed to tell him was what to do when every moment without Fred felt like an eternity. How did he get out of the moment and find fate again?

Wesley was reaching for the first cube when his cell phone rang.

"Yes," Wesley said as he flipped the phone open.

Whoever was on the other side of the phone talked for a moment before Wesley responded.

"Good. I'll be down in a few minutes."

With that he flipped the phone shut and slipped it in his shirt pocket.

It was all coming together, yet there was so much yet to do. The last piece of it as was Vail, yet the rest of the puzzle lay before him. There were so many pieces that were missing and time was running out.

Picking up the first cube, Wes spoke in a guttural tone.

_Thid un syh machari shay she._

With the sounding of the final syllable that came from his mouth, the cube began to shimmer and pulse with a lavender inner light.

It was then that he began to speak again

Gunn lay on his back, looking up at the harsh lights of Los Angeles that shined all around him. The rain had washed most of the blood from the sucking chest wound that caused him to gasp like a fish out of water when he tried to breath. He could hear the din of the battle moving away from him. And why not? He was no threat, at least now. Maybe not ever.

Of all his companions, Charles Gunn was, well the most normal. He didn't have super strength, speed and senses like the vamps or godlike abilities like Illyria. Heck, even Wesley could throw it down with the best of them and then back it up with some serious magic mojo. But Gunn, what could he do? At best, the only ability he had outside of being incredibly smooth and handsome was that which Wolfram & Hart had put in his head. So when it came down to hammer time that allowed him to do what? Sequester his foes in a jury or possibly freeze their unsecured assets?

With Wolfram & Hart gone, maybe it was best this way. Maybe he didn't have much to offer anymore. Unless Angel had planned on opening a small law office on the side of Angel Investigations, well then he would have reason to stay, but other than that he was...

Well, back to just being the muscle. And seemingly, human muscle just wasn't enough now days.

Other than the inability to breath, Gunn knew he was dying. Hell, maybe he was already dead. Maybe that was why things were suddenly so dark.

Yet, from the darkness and through the roar of the falling rain, he could hear footsteps.

"Hey, are you still there?" A familiar voice said, as it tapped him on the forehead.

He tried to answer, but for some reason his mouth wouldn't move.

"I guess, not you stupid bastard!" Was the person's reply, which was followed by what Gunn assumed was a solid kick. Not that it hurt or anything, but Gunn heard the impact and felt the slight sensation of falling, like one would in a dream.

The voice didn't speak for a moment? A minute? An hour? Gunn wasn't sure, but when it did speak again, then was a touch of...grudging respect?

"Well, at least you did some damage. Taking out that Demonocrat Senator and her supporters, then coming back here and participating in the Royal Rumble, but other than that, you're still a bastard."

"At least you didn't embarrass us."

Gunn was dying, but this guy, whoever he was, made him want to get up and kick one more ass.

Gunn fought to open his eyes and at least see who was talking to him...he knew that voice.

With the last ounce of strength he possessed, Gunn opened his eyes only to see...himself.

Standing over him was him. Another Charles Gunn.

The other Gunn was looking around and then bent down to pick something up.

Looking back at him, the other Gunn said, "Well, I guess you won't be needing this anymore."

With the double half-moon battleaxe that he had just picked up hefted over his shoulder, the other Gunn started to walk away from the Gunn on the ground.

Had he still been alive he would have heard the other Gunn's final words as he disappeared into the cold wet night.

"Friggen' panther!"

_Get up!_

The thought screamed through Angel's head as he struggled to get up, yet try as he may, the vampire couldn't move, let alone get to his feet.

He could hear them coming; hear their talking that consisted of gutteral moans and high-pitched clicks and whistles. Angel wasn't sure where they were exactly, the debris covering him made it nearly impossible to tell where the sounds were coming from. He knew they were close though; he could smell them now.

For the most part, Angel was a bit confused. How had he gotten covered up by all this wood and metal?

"_Where are you going?" Spike scream to Angel over the din of the battle._

_The initial wave of attackers had been broken, so Angel felt there was no better time to do what he had planned from the moment he had seen the dragon._

"_For a ride!" Angel said, pointing to a giant figure circling overhead._

_With Hamilton's demon charged blood pounding through his body, Angel made the forty foot leap to the first rooftop easily and the second to the rooftop nearly three times that with almost as little effort. Whatever amount of power the Senior Partners had given the sharp dressed liaison, Angel figured he had drained at least half of it when he had bitten Hamilton. Juiced as he was, Angel knew without a doutt had Hamilton not made a slip of the tongue, he would be nothing but a pile of dust back at Wolfram & Hart. He never would have been able to stand up to that power for that long._

_Angel carried two swords, one in each hand, which he had taken from a pair of demons that he and Spike had killed together. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with them, since it was unlikely that the dragon would leave the air and come down and fight in Angel's element._

_Looking up to where he had last seen the dragon, Angel watched as it soared away from him, yet it kept the steady cycle that it had for the entire course of the battle. That meant that it would bring it close to Angel's location in less than a minute. _

_He needed some way to get it close enough to engage it. But how? Looking around the rooftop, Angel suddenly got an idea. Running up to a large television antenna, Angel ripped it from its moorings and then tore the receptors off the end of the twenty foot long shaft. _

_With that done, all there was to do was wait._

_The dragon, just as Angel thought it would, completed its aerial arc close to his current position, approximately fifty away at it's closest._

_Jumping up from his hiding spot, Angel took three steps and launched the antenna with all his strength. He had hoped it would catch the flying lizard in the belly, possibly ending the battle before it started, but the dragon, seeing Angel just before the metal javelin reached it, banked hard to the side. The antenna did hit a mark though, just not the one that Angel had hoped for. _

_The metal spear tore through the dragon's right wing as it passes through and continued somewhere into the night. Angel, who was following fast on the his homemade spear's trail, realized that it wouldn't do any serious damage to the dragon, yet what it did allow was time for Angel it catch up with the beast as it struggled to stay airborn._

_Reaching the end of the rooftop nearest the dragon, Angel launched himself into the night._

The voices were closer now and the grating sound of metal against metal being moved seemed to come from directly over Angel.

For the first time since he had gained consciousness, Angel could feel his body again and he wished that he couldn't. Suddenly, Angel remembered something that Spike had once told him "that pain was good. It helped you remember you were alive, especially when you aren't."

If that was the case, Angel felt like he was more alive than he had ever been.

Everything from a dull throbbing to a not-so-dull throbbing covered him from head to toe, but one pain in particular bothered him. His chest felt as if it were on fire. Lifting his head as slightly as the debris would allow him, Angel found a shaft of steel rebar sticking through his chest, only inches from his heart. Not that it would have mattered had it hit his heart, it would have had to be wood to kill him, but as a normal practice, Angel liked to keep anything from piercing his chest be it wood or metal.

Angel tried to move his arms. His right arm was firmly pinned, yet his left felt as if it had some room to move. Moving it around, he felt for any handhold that might allow him some leverage to gain some room, but try as he may, Angel could find any.

Maybe he was on the edge of a hole, maybe a basement or something, yet when Angel turned his head to see what was there he saw only twisted metal and splinted word. If that was the case, then why couldn't he feel his arm? The answer came to him.

The dragon beat it's wing furiously as it realized that it couldn't dislodge Angel and headed for higher ground.

_Angel, holding onto the pommel of one sword which firmly embedded into the back of the dragon, just behind the wings, fought to figure out what to do now that he was on the beast just as much as he fought to stay on it._

_He knew the dragon was trying to gain an advantage by flying higher. He didn't have to worry about the air thinning since he didn't breath, but the cold in the upper atmosphere could be a problem if they got too high. Plus, if he did figure out how to kill the dragon without falling off the creature and it was too high up, he probably wouldn't survive the fall, demon power buzz or not._

_Angel knew he had to slow the dragon's ascent before it was too late, so with his free arm, Angel began to hack away at the beast's left wing. Tendons snapped and splintered with his first two blows and with a dull thud, his third found bone._

_The dragon's response came so quickly, Angel didn't have time to respond. He only had time to realize that it had quit trying to fly, or maybe it couldn't, and had snapped its head back towards him. _

_Why hadn't it done that before was Angel's first thought. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for a second as the dragon spit out a giant gout of flame at the vampire. Still hold onto the sword in the dragon's back, Angel threw himself almost off the dragon to avoid being hit and used his momentum to swing back onto it on the other side._

_Hurrying, Angel went back to work on the other wing with the sword he still held, yet something was wrong. It was gone. Had he dropped the sword? It had all happened so fast. To his horror, Angel realized what was wrong as the dragon suddenly banked, it's ascent slowly coming to a halt, and began to head towards the ground._

Angel looked over at where his arm had once been. The area around where the dragon fire had taken his arm off was red and puckered. Why hadn't that killed him? Angel didn't know. Fire certainly could do the trick to a vampire and so could bleeding out, but neither was the case. His arm had been neatly taken off and apparently cauterized at the shoulder, so it was as if the arm simply disappeared.

Spike had lost his hands, but unlike Spike, Angel's arm was gone, so there was no putting it back on.

It was a thought for another time. In truth, the loss of an arm was a little price to pay for what he had faced over the last hour. He was buried under a couple tons of rubble, stuck like a pincushion, and whatever strength that he had stole from Hamilton was wearing off which left him feeling every blow he had received during that time. No, the arm was a small price.

For the time, he had other things to worry about. He would rather be dead that alive if those who he was fighting found him. He doubted that the Senior Partners would settle for him just dead. No, they would want retribution, and for them, dead just wasn't enough.

Angel listened to hear for the sounds of his pursuers and for those who were just moving things above him minutes ago, yet he heard none. He sat there for several minutes straining to hear anything close by, but the only sounds that come were those of battle; some were afar off, some were not.

It was probably twenty minutes later when he finally heard something nearby.

"Angel?"

Angel knew that voice.

"Dad?"

Dust was still falling from the wreckage of the Wolfram & Hart building when an odd blue light began to filter through the heaps of wreckage on the far north side. Had someone saw the light, they would not have been able to see were it was coming from. Certainly, no lamp or light could have survived an explosion and subsequent disaster that had befallen the building. So what was causing the light?

As suddenly as it started, the azure light winked out, only to be replaced by a viscose fluid that seeped up out of the tangled girders and shattered glass of the wreckage. The liquid that looked to be made of mercury, glinted softly in the fires that burned out of control around it.

The quicksilver suddenly began to change, taking a form, taking mass as it slowly reached upward to the open sky. Bluish sparks snapped and sizzled across the coalescing form where the rain fell upon it.

Slowly, a form began to take shape. First, a torso appeared or rather an amorphous body that seeming strained to take some human shape. Reaching it's total mass, the metallic creature seemed to look around for something.

Apparently, it had found it, because it head towards another tangle of debris. From within the tangle, an arm stuck out and the creature enveloped it. Within seconds it was changing again, this time into a human female form.

It was complete. It had form. Now it could do what it had been created to do.

Completely naked, the newly formed female walked into the night.

"May I have your passport and flight information, please" The bubbly attendant said from behind the chest high counter.

The man who called himself Tobias Neal reached into the inner pocket of his coat and produced a handful of information.

"Thank you, Mr...Neal." The attendant said as she scanned and separated the material into three piles. She continued to look over several of the papers as she entered various snippets of information into her computer. When she was finally finished, the attendant stapled two of the three papers together and handed them make to the man who called himself Mr. Neal, who then neatly folded them and put them back into his coat.

"Excuse me Mr. Neal," the attendant said, as she looked over the third pile of papers. "It says that you have something held in cargo?"

The man nodded his head.

"Do you have the yellow slip that should have been given to you when you checked your cargo in?" She asked.

"Oh," The man said, plunging his hand into his pants pocket. "I'm sorry, I forget. It's ...uh...here you go. Sorry, I'm just a little preoccupied."

The attendant nodded politely, as if she understood, which she didn't. That is, until she looked at what the man's cargo was.

"Oh," She said, looking Mr. Neal in the eyes, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Yeah," Mr. Neal said, "My son, he... uh...died here in L.A. and I'm taking him home."

"I hope your trip goes well, Mr Neal." She said before adding, "And thank you for flying BritishAir."

The man who called himself Mr. Neal boarded the plane and headed for his seat which was somewhere in the back of the coach section. As he pushed past several fellow passengers on his way to his seat, he quickly scanned the all the seats he passed. Finally, two rows before getting to his seat, he saw what he was looking for.

From the window seat, a pair of eyes, as blue as the sky they would soon be flying in, met his. Neither showed any reaction to the others presence, other than they held each others gaze for a moment before Mr. Neal continued to his seat and the other went back to his magazine.

Within minutes, the plane had taxied out onto the tarmac and was launching itself down the runway. Once the plane was in the air, Mr. Neal immediately grabbed his pillow and blanket, tipped his seat back and closed his eyes. When the stewardess came around to check on the passengers, she passed him by because she believed he was sleeping, however, had she looked a little closer she would have noticed that his lips were moving.

Connor ripped through the huge pile of rubble that lay before him, throwing several large chunks of concrete with minimal effort.

"Angel?"

He knew that he was in the pile of debris, he had seen him, and the creature he was riding, fall from the sky and impact at this spot. There was also the fact that he could...smell...his father. It was one of those things that he had learned he could do since he and his father had went to that wizard, or warlock, or whatever he was, Vail's house so he could fight the demon in the vase.

During the battle, it was as if something, or some part, of him had been unlocked and the process hadn't stopped even after he had left the battle behind. He could remember it all, though it was like being a spectator in someone else's life. It was him, not just the "him" he was now.

He could remember Holtz, and Cordelia, and Jasmine. There were memories of fighting with Angel and fighting against him. He remembered what he had done in Jasmine's name and even after, when his father had finally stopped him.

He could remember them all – But those memories weren't him.

The man he was now was going to college and had just broke up with the first girl he had kissed. He also had a father who needed him.

Maybe this was how his father, Angel, felt after he had gotten his soul. He had been able to remember all the lives he had ruined and the people he had killed as Angelus, yet, in the end it wasn't him. It had been the demon, not Angel.

The fact that he might be like his father in that manner didn't comfort Connor in any way, yet it was another link to him that he wanted to know about. He wanted to learn about his father. His real father. Not Holtz. Not the family that had been given to him by Wolfram & Hart. He wanted to know about his true father.

"Angel?"

Connor continued to tear through the rubble, unsure if he was getting any closer to Angel. His scent was getting stronger, but Connor knew too little about his reemerging abilities to rely on them.

He also had to hurry. If he had noticed where Angel had fallen, then it was likely that others had as well and more than likely, there would be a swarm of those creatures looking for Angel just as he was.

_Where is he! _Conner screamed inside his head.

He was just about to move to another pile of debris when his hearing picked up a sound.

Connor

It had been faint, but Connor had caught it.

With renewed fervor, Connor kept digging. Soon enough, he caught sight of some bits of clothing and a foot. Excited as he was to find Angel, Connor wasn't prepared for what he found when he finally uncovered his father.

Connor had memories of his father being hurt badly, but nothing he could remember could hold a candle to the shape Angel was in now. Connor could hardly recognize his father.

Angel's faces was so badly bruised and cut that it had nearly caused his left eye to swell shut and his right eye was gone...or nearly gone. A glass shard had impaled him through the eye and lodged on an angle, bursting out of his face just above the ear. That wasn't the only he had been pierced through with something; in truth, Angel looked like a pincushion made of wood, metal, and glass.

Connor wasn't sure how, but Angel's arm was gone, though he wasn't bleeding from the shoulder; every other inch of him though was covered in blood.

"Dad?" Connor said in disbelief.

If Angel had heard him, he didn't react.

A noise from behind him reminded him that he need to get his father out of there, but could he move him in the shape he was in? The sound harsh tongues and armor fast approaching gave him no choice.

Gently, Connor lifted Angel's limp body from the rubble and began to run.

"And that's about it then," Spike said, finishing the last drag of his cigarette.

Spike's story had been an incredible one; one he would have taken as the vampire's bravado, yet from what little Gile's had known before he talked to Spike, he thought it all to be true.

It was all making sense now, or at least more sense. Drogan was dead, which bothered Giles. Not because he care for the man, not that he didn't, but what weighed on Giles conscience was the fact that the Deeper Well was unmonitored and unprotected. Illyria had been released from the Well while Drogan was there, what could escape if he wasn't?

Maybe something already had? That would explain his and Buffy's current situation, whatever they were dealing with was powerful and several events tied back to the Well…

Yet, something didn't seem right about that. Spike said that the Drogan had come over a week ago, maybe less, so that meant that the Well had been unguarded for just a little time; too little to explain what was happening back home.

Something else bothered Giles - Wesley. Giles and Wesley had never really connected interpersonally, however he had been a Watcher – One of the last remaining Watcher's outside of Giles. He had been Faith's Watcher, a hard job to say the least, and apparently from the way Spike spoke of him, a very important part of Angel's dynamic in Los Angeles.

Giles had hoped to talk to Wesley about the Watcher's Council and the possibility of him taking an active role in its reformation, but he had been a day late. That seemed to be a reoccurring theme as of late for him.

Well, he still had Spike, something Buffy would be glad for. Another ally she had said. Giles wasn't sure how far to trust Spike, soul or no. He, like Angel, had been in the belly of the beast for too long for it to not have effected them, yet like it or not, they need allies; even allies that walked the edge of light and dark.

It had all seemed so simple and straight forward when he had first become a Watcher. Slayer, good. Demons, bad. Then Angel had come along, then Anya, then Willow's transformation, and now Spike. Giles wasn't comfortable in the gray areas, but that seemed to be were he always ended. Pragmatic paradise.

Giles had to consciously fight the urge to pull his glasses off his face and clean the lens.

"Spike," Gile said, as he slowly folded his hands together to keep them away from his glasses. "Do you think you can find him? Angel, I mean. If he..uh..is findable."

"I suppose I could. Though you, Andrew, and the Psycho could just as easily find him yourselves, just follow the smell of hair jell and listen for someone whining like a bloody little gir…."

Spike didn't have time finish his sentence as a burst of light filled the room. The light suddenly coalesced into a single point of light that looked like a baseball-sized ball of pure light.

"What the bloody…" Spike started to say as the light headed straight for him. It hit him square in the head, driving him to the ground.

He lay there for several seconds, probably up to thirty, not moving an inch despite Giles repeatedly calling him name. Giles, not knowing what happened, didn't want to touch him until he knew what happened. If that had been some sort of magical attack who knows what it would have done to Spike. Then practically speaking, if Giles startled Spike…

Finally, Spike started to move, slowly at first, then finally normally as he pushed himself back to him feet.

"Spike, what happened?"

"I'm not sure…." Spike shook his head slowly, as if he was trying to shake the cobwebs out, and then began to curse under his breath.

"But I think I know where Angel is."

Connor looked out the window leading back from where they had just come. He had been able to lose their pursuers; but for how long? He was still getting a feel for what he was capable to do and had surprised himself by putting considerable distance between himself and the demons following them while having his father in tow. Connor had been quite the bookworm while in high school, yet seeing what he could do now, he sort of wished he had played football or maybe track.

A moan from behind him drew his attention from back down the street, to his father who he had laid on a sofa of the now abandoned coffee shop.

Memories of the time that he had captured his father, put him in an iron tomb, and sunk him to the bottom of the ocean tickled the back of his mind. His father had been in bad shape when Wesley had finally released him, but how he was now made that look like a Sunday walk in the park.

The most glaring injury was Angel's left arm; it was gone. Yet, beyond that, glass, metal, and wooden shard pierced him through like a pincushion. One long one had pierced through one of his eyes and out the side of his face. Connor knew that vampires could take a lot of damage without dying, but this seemed absurd. Everywhere Connor looked there was a gaping hole in his father.

Connor wanted to help, but he was unsure of what to do or even where to start. When he had taken CPR last summer they had never covered anything like this.

Reaching down, Connor started to dislodge several of the smaller debris fragment that were in Angel, which seemed to start any bleeding that had stopped all over again. Angel grunted as Connor touched what looked to be a shaft of rebar that was lodged in his chest right next to his heart.

_Good thing it didn't hit his heart. Or does it need to be wood? _

That tickling came back into his head again telling him that the key was the wood, not the piercing.

As Connor pulled his hand away, Angel spoke, "Pull it out…I need you to pull them all out…I'm sorry Connor…I need…"

"Dad?" Connor said, as Angel drifted back out again. "Angel? I don't know if I can. I mean, I can, but I'm not sure if I should. You have lost a lot of blood already and if I pull them out…"

Opening his left eye, which was nearly completely swollen shut, Angel caught Connor's gaze. "Can't heal with them in…have to do it."

"Okay." Connor said hesitantly, as he reached out and wrapped his hands around the shaft sticking out of Angel's chest. "I sorry. This is going to hurt."

Angel nodded slightly and, almost impossibly, gave Connor a slight smile.

With tears in his eyes, Connor pulled the first one out.


	2. Chapter 2

Wesley stepped off the plane and into the airport somewhat reluctantly. With his arrival back in England, he was starting over, just as he had when he left Sunnydale for Los Angeles, but this time there was not the sense of a new beginning. No, this was a new phase, but there would be no new beginning for him. The scar on his soul just wouldn't allow it.

The dweomers that he had constructed for the others were certainly active now, probably had been for some time now, and he hoped that it gave the others and opportunity to find each one another no matter what had happened. The was a part of him that wished that he had constructed one for himself so he could know if they were still alive, but it was probably better this way. Angel was the only one that knew the truth since he was the one that had set him on the path he was now.

The truth was that Wesley had faced Vail, though not the way that everyone believed. What had fought with and lost to Vail was Wes, sort of. What it was known as a humonculous – a physical and mystical manifestation of Wes, that he had astrally projected himself into, while actually on the plane, to do battle with Vail. When that body had been slain, his consciousness was brought back to his actual body, and had continued on the flight.

Wesley had wanted to stay and fight; possibly die with the others, but Angel thought that what he needed Wes to do was just as important as bringing down Wolfram & Hart and the Black Thorn. Angel said that he had chose him because Wesley had the knowledge to fulfill his task, but greater still, the ability see the big picture. Big picture aside, Wes couldn't shake the feeling that he was abandoning his friends in their time of greatest need.

Need. What did he need? What he needed was gone.

"Mr. Neal?" A woman's voice spoke from behind him.

Wes continued walking a few steps more when he realized that she had been talking to him. Tobias Neal had been the name of his closest friend while he had been at the academy training to be a Watcher. He had been unable to book the flight in his own name, so Tobias' had been the first name that had come to his mind.

Turning around to face the woman, Wes spoke, "Yes, I'm Mr. Neal."

The woman smiled at Wes as she thrust forward a handful of papers towards him, which he took from her.

"I hope you had a wonderful flight sir." She continued, "Everything is in order and a van has been prepared for your cargo."

Wes scanned the papers quickly before shoving them into the inside of his coat.

"Thank you." He said, as he turned back around and headed for the parking lot and the loading dock where he would find his van.

Wesley was almost out of the terminal when a man casually stepped out of a room adjacent to the exit. He was expecting the man, so it came as no surprise to Wes, though how he had gotten ahead of him without Wes seeing him leave the plane was uncanny. Wesley had exited the plane well before he had.

After picking up the van and checking to see if the casket they had brought with them was intact, they loaded their luggage and drove off together.


	3. Chapter 3

OOC – I guess I "own" these characters, but Joss owns me, so they are technically his. Also, I am going to bring these character into the battle with Wes, so it is a brief intro. Sorry it seems rushed, but it was...

IC - "Look alive team," the man dressed in all black said as he stepped through the door of the Soaring Eagle Casino in Mount Pleasant, Michigan. "We need to find Rodian and extract him as quick as possible."

He was flanked by three other members of his team: Thurki, a Chithon demon; Sara, once Potential, now Slayer; and Teletha, a Coven trained Witch.

"I'm friggen freezing" Thurki conplained, none too quietly, as he pulled his heavy parka tighter to his body.

The stone skinned Chithon demons were native to tropical climates and could be comfortable wadding in lava pools, but the cold...that was unbearable for them. Given an extended exposure to subzero temperatures a Chithon would freeze to death in an eighth of the time a human would.

Garrison shot Thurki a wry smile, "Find Rodian and we can be back to the safehouse and the hot tub in minutes."

That apparently wasn't good enough for the giant demon, "Tel, can't you put a hex on me and heat me up a bit?"

The slight blond woman who was walking next to him shook her head and snuggled up next to him as they walked.

"No, this is the best I can do for now. If I shifted spells now, it would interfere with your cloaking mask and I don't think casino security is ready for a seven foot crimson demon to play blackjack."

Thurki snorted something under his breath and then grumbled something that Garrison couldn't make out.

As they made their way onto the casino floor, the sounds of slot machines the muted sounds of patrons greeted them. When they got to the center of the casino, they split; Thurki and Teletha continuing to stroll towards the far end of the casino, while Garrison and Sara went to the bar.

"Max?" Garrison said to no one in particular as he slid onto a barstool.

A voice broke from the small receiver he had in his ear.

"Good to go Garrison. I'm tapped into the casino security cams and ready to roll. I'm running the facial recognition program now. I'll be serving Rodian up for you in a minutes."

Max, the fifth member of Garrison's crew, was adapt at all things electronic as Teletha was magically. It was a combination that Garrison knew a little of of, but compared to their respective abilities, Garrison might as well as been a child.

Garrison was going to wave the bartender down when Max spoke back up again.

"Found him. He's in the Poker room. Table 18. He's playing with a bunch of high rollers and there are a bunch of gawkers. Most of them are kinda beefy, so my bet is they are with Rodian..."

Garrison slid back off the stool and grabbed Sara's hand, "Come on, honey. It's time for me to play some poker and you get to play my girlfriend. Just look pretty and be ready. Up for it?"

Sara gave Garrison a quizzical look and then reached up and adjusted her blouse, pulling it down a bit to show more cleavage. Sara was attractive, not drop dead gorgeous, but her athletic build, combined with her deep brown eyes and attitude made her more than most men could handle.

"Is that good enough, sweety?" she said. The sarcasm in her voice wasn't missed by Garrison.

"Alright Max, we are heading in. Thurki and Teletha, you come in and try to get close to the table about five minutes after I sit down."

The deep base tone of Thurki's voice came over the receiver, "Got it."

Max's voice followed, "Alright, you are good to go. I have the tape looped, so as far as the eye in the sky is concerned, you aren't in the room. If there are any problems, I'll drop the whole thing so you are covered either way."

Walking into the Poker room, Garrison pulled out a thousand in hundreds and asked for ten dollar chips. There were two openings at the table that Rodian was on, so Garrison took a seat that was closest to the man. Sara, who was now intently, though with a masking smile, checking out the room, especially those who were standing around their target.

Garrison posted, which he had to do or wait until the big blind actually got to him, $50 and got his pocket cards. He had been playing cards for years, so the role of a poker player wasn't that hard, however, the married role was a bit more difficult for Garrison to act. Like much of his life, Garrison had a tendency to be a bit more flamboyant with things he was uncomfortable with, allowing the force of his personality to cover for his discomfort.

"We're on our honeymoon." Garrison said, cocking his head back towards Sara. "Yep, been married for a day now. We are flying out to Vegas from Metro in the morning, so we decided to stop here and warm up Lady Luck before hitting the big time."

Garrison paused for a minute as he checked his cards, 9/8 offsuit, and checked.

"Well, not that this isn't a big game, but c'mon...Vegas baby."

Garrison wished he could have captured the expression of all those at the table with a camera as he talked. Some were obviously pleased, hopeful that he was easy money, while a few, like Rodian, looked at him with disgust.

When the flop finally came, Garrison was nowhere near it with his cards, but he started the show back up again.

Reaching into the pocket on the inside of his leather coat, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on.

"I guess have to do this right,huh?" Garrison said with mock ignorance.

Although he considered his poker face to be as good as anyone else in the room, Garrison's purpose for the glasses was not to hide his eyes. The glasses, a gift from Max, allowed him to see heat signatures. Looking to his cards and then at the pot, Garrison threw out the minimum bet and then looked around as the play passed him by.

He let out a mental curse as the four individuals that stood behind the short bald figure of Rodian gave off no heat. _Bloody bloodsuckers. _It was well known, well, at least in the right circles, that Rodian had a thing for keeping vampires on a short leash...literally. Each of the four vamps behind him wore a thin metal collar that Rodian used to insure their loyalty. Apparently he paid them well in both cash and blood, but the collars were used to keep the vampired pragmatic streaks in check.

Mission accomplished, Garrison folded when a man at the far end of the table reraised and he waited several hands before getting in another. He was getting ready to fold when Sara leaned forward and rested against his side. With her finger, she traced a capital T on his back, the signal that Thurki and Teletha were in place.

"I'm going to go get something to drink." Sara said loudly enough that most at the table could hear her. With that, she got up and wandered off.

"Well gentlemen, I think that I will play this one...though I probably shouldn't" Garrison said as he thumbed his cards.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a explosion of words and a chair, hitting something, came from behind the table.

As soon as Rodian's entourage turned to see the hulking form of Thurki yelling and stomping around at a table behind them, Garrison quickly reached across the table and slapped a small wristband on Rodian's arm.

"What?" the pasty fat man stammered as he looked from the wristband to Garrison and back to the wristband.

"It's a little insurance that I though that you could appreciate." Garrison said.

He continued as the table cleared out as he got up and headed towards the man, "SoulDrinker's, Rodian? What are you thinking? You just couldn't keep running drugs, you had to start running people?"

He had only taken one step towards Rodian when a hand grabbed him from behind. He had been told that Rodian had five vamps in his hire and there he was...

He already had the handle of his weapon in his hand when the vamp had grabbed him, so with the flip of a switch, a four foot lance of light burst from the device he was holding. With a eerie familiarness, the weapon hummed as it arched towards the arm that had grabbed him and separated it at the elbow, the severed part turning to dust.

Garrison reversed the weapon and caught the vampire at the head and cleaved through it as if there hadn't been anything there to stop it. The vampire burst into a pile of clothes and dust.

Rodian took the opportunity to throw himself from his seat and wedge himself between his four vamp bodyguards. Turning around, they found Garrison still holding his lit weapon, looking very Jedi-ish.

Waving his hand in front of him, Garrison said, "You don't need to fight. Just give me the fat man."

In response, the four reverted to their demonic forms and rushed Garrison.

The first to reach him caught the "lightsaber" in the chest from a straight on thrust and dusted nicely. Two others flanked Garrison, but he was intent to Rodian who was heading for the exit to the poker room. With a quick feint to one side, Garrison brought the blade high and then dropped it quickly to catch the vamp in the knee. The vampire's lower leg burst into dust and it fell to the ground. He turned to find the other one, but was greeted by Sara, stake in hand, and another pile of dust.

Turning to find the last, Garrison found him with Rodian in tow, heading away from the fight. He and Sara had only taken two steps when Rodian came to a halt and his vampire escort burst into flames. Teletha stepped out from behind a row of slot machines, a sly grin on her face.

Quickly, they scooped up Rodian and headed for the door. Thurki reached them just as they reached the door; he was hastily pulling his coat on. Out the door they went and headed for the van.

OOC – This is one of the ideas I got when I was playing cards the other day. By the way, the "lightsaber" is a bit of machine and a bit of magic. Consider it Thundarr's(old school cartoon)Sunsword or a "untraviolet torch" - but it is really a lightsaber(I am in a Jedi kick). It won't hurt the living(maybe tan them a bit) but does massive harm to vamps.


	4. Chapter 4

Alright, I guess I own an explanation of what is happening. There are two threads in this story.

The first involves the individuals who showed up in the alleyway after they dropped the bomb on the Black Thorn(Angel, Gunn, Spike and Illyria + a few stragglers like Andrew, Giles, and Dana.) I wanted to see if the characters could pick up the pieces and still stick to the path that Joss had set them on. Just so there is no confusion, and I add to the confusing by forgetting that the breaks in the story wouldn't work, I will sum up where all the characters in the first arc are.

-Angel/Connor – Angel is recovering from his battle with the dragon, minus his arm. Connor gets to take care of him and nurse him back to health…I thought it would be ironic.

-Illyria – Still trying to deal with Wes' apparent death and the further emergence of Fred's personality…I miss Fred.

-Gunn – A long time ago, when Gunn saw himself in the White Room and duked it out with the Panther/Little Girl that had become his clone, I thought that wouldn't it be cool if the individual from the White Room switched with Gunn, leaving him trapped there and the "Panther" to live Gunn's life. However, with the fall of Wolfram & Hart and the other "Gunn"s death, the real Gunn could be released to pick up the pieces unharmed.

-Spike – Spike will almost always be the center of my writing when he is in a scene. I love the savagery that he brings. He too is hurt, but not as bad as Angel.

The second arc revolves around Wesley. Obviously, the character that I wrote as Mr. Neal was Wes. Chapter 2 was a separate story that I wrote for just him and his trip back to the Deeper Well. The important things to understand about this arc is that Wes is hurting from the loss of Fred, but when all is said and done, he is a soldier who is able to see the big picture. Angel sends him back to the Well for two reasons. 1. To return Drogan.(The Battlebrand is more than he seems) 2. So Wes can keep an eye on the Well.

Wes also takes along a little muscle that is yet to be revealed. The original title of the Wes arc was "Sanctuary" which I plan to give Wes(more in the literal sense, not the emotional/figurative)

Chapter 3 was also geared for this arc. Garrison has ties to Wesley through the Watchers and they will eventually join up. Chpt 3 was just a brief intro to the characters before I threw them with Wes. I'll link the two of them soon.

Well, I think that is it. I may go into the first Chapter and put in some verbal breaks to help clear the flow up a bit. Thank you everyone for the review posted and those just sent to me…I really do appreciate the feedback. Feel free to critique the story, the writing, or whatever you can find wrong with me right now. I'm used to it…I'm married to a crazy pregnant woman.

"Oh honey, I didn't see you there behind me!"

"Uhhhhh…No. I was just kidding hon. Your not crazy."

"Hey, stop it. That hurts"

Well, I gotta go. Here is the next chapter with Angel and Connor. Enjoy.

**Chapter 4**

Connor flinched as he pulled out a shard of glass from his father's upper thigh that had to be at least six inches long. He quietly placed it on the floor next to approximately ten other fragments just like it and went back to his grueling task. Eleven down and…how many more? It seemed like everywhere Connor looked, Angel was either tore open or impaled with something.

When Connor had first started pulling the shrapnel out of his father, Angel had been there with him, but after the second one, a foot long scrap of metal lodged in his stomach, Angel had passed out. Connor had been able to work faster when he didn't have to hear his father's groans of agony. Angel had been stoic, but that had lasted only about thirty seconds when Connor had to twist the metal fragment to dislodge it.

Ten minutes later, Connor surveyed Angel and didn't find any more visible pieces sticking out of him, even after turning him over, which itself brought a low moan from Angel. With that task done, Connor used a small knife he had found behind the counter to cut Angel's ragged shirt off.

It nearly took Connor's breath away to see the damage that his father had endured. Ironically, the small puckered scar, that was the only sign that Angel had once had a left arm, look to be in the best shape. It was a pinkish white with blackened streaks running through it, but as a whole, it looked fine for the spot an arm once connected.

"…Connor…"

Angel breathed his son's name than actually spoke it.

"I'm here Angel." Connor said, kneeling down and grabbing his father's hand.

Angel struggled to speak; his mouth moved, but no words came out. Finally, he let out a small gasp of breath.

"…sorry…you shouldn't…be here…"

"Hey," Connor said, giving his father's hand a firm squeeze, "I'm going to let that slide because you haven't really had a son before. When I was little, I wasn't around too much and then we really didn't see eye to eye later so…I mean we're family right? That's what we do for each other."

"I mean, we just found each other again…I think we both have some healing to do and I think I have to have you there to help me through it. Besides, it's not like I'll have to take care of you when you're old, with the whole dress you and wipe your butt thing…  
"

Connor realized that he was talking more than he usually would, but he didn't know what to do other than talk. He had no idea what to do next. Should he try to move somewhere more secure? He wasn't sure if Angel could handle that and even though he hadn't heard any pursuers in some time, he knew they were out there and he wouldn't be able to fight and keep his dad safe.

Though it was still raining out, daybreak was coming and Connor didn't want to chance getting caught outside if the clouds broke.

One thing was sure, Angel needed to be secure while he healed and he also need to …

Feed.

Something deep within Connor flared to life. A revulsion for vampires that his father…no, Angel was his father…something that Holtz had instilled in him. He was torn internally as he looked as his father lying on the couch.

_I have to help him, but how? What do I do next?_

_Kill him! You will have no better chance. When he gains his strength he will try to kill you…drink your blood._

"_No"_ Connor thought, "_He wouldn't do that. He's my father."_

Connor knew he was right; his father would never purposely hurt him, let alone try to feed on him. He knew immediately what he needed to do.

Pulling the small knife that he had used to take his father's shirt off, Connor carefully drew the blade across his wrist, scoring it deep enough that blood easily pooled, but not deep enough that it couldn't be stemmed.

As the first drop of blood dripped on Angel's lips, he immediately began opening his mouth like a suckling babe, however, once the realization of what was happening came over him, he snapped his mouth closed, his eyes widening in…what? Not surprise. No, it was fear.

Undaunted, Connor forced his wrist to Angel's lips. Angel struggled to turn away, but Connor grabbed his hair and forced him to look at him.

Eye to eye with Angel, Connor spoke. "You are going to drink."

Angel pleaded with his eyes and then tried to turn again.

"No" Connor said, suddenly angry. "You are going to drink. I can't carry you out of here and fight at the same time. Besides, you have spilt your blood for me before. Right?"

Connor loosened his grip on Angel's hair, "I learned one thing since I left you…That you do what is right for your family, even if it hurt you, and it usually does, because you are family."

"We are family Angel. You are my father."

All of the anger drained out of Connor as he finished, "And I am your son."

Connor realized that Angel had stopped fighting him, but he still had his mouth closed. Angel stared into his eyes for what seemed an eternity, but in truth, it couldn't have been more than ten seconds.

Closing his eyes, Angel began to slowly feed on the steady stream of blood that flowed from Connor's wrist.

All through the time Connor had carried Angel till the moment that he had removed the final piece piercing his father, Angel hadn't shed a tear, yet now a steady stream flowed from his eyes.


End file.
